Out in the Cold
by theclarinetchica
Summary: Sherlock sets the flat on fire... again. He tries to make it up to John. A PWP for MrsNoggin.


I was sick earlier this week and feeling not very creative, so **MrsNoggin**gave me the prompt:

"a bit of Johnlock (surprise surprise)... some al fresco in the cold, where Sherlock's coat comes in useful and John has cold hands. Doesn't have to be smexytimes, if you don't want, cuddles would do me fine. But cold outside sex is good."

* * *

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock," John yelled for the third time that evening, trying to warm some feeling back into his hands, "What the fuck were you thinking?"

"As I previously explained, that particular chemical reaction should not have resulted in such an explosion," Sherlock said flatly, watching the firefighters as they milled around on the sidewalk outside their flat. "The combination should have only yielded a small flash, at most."

"And yet here we are," John flung his arm out, "Stuck on the pavement while they clear the flat. It's freezing out here."

"It's not my fault you forgot to grab your coat-"

"Not _your _fault?" His temper was starting to get the better of him. "It's _your_ fault we're out here in the first place. I wasn't expecting to be run out of the flat by an explosion."

"John-"

"No, I'm being silly," his voice dripped sarcasm.

"John," this time the name was a caress, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to set the flat on fire."

"Again."

"Quite right. Again," Sherlock stepped toward John, one hand reaching out. John looked at him, unsure. They were still in the beginnings of their relationship and had decided to keep it to themselves for now.

"Boys," Mrs. Hudson placed a hand on John's arm, "My cab is here. Please call me when it's safe to come home."

"Of course," John promised.

"And you," she rounded on Sherlock, "Apologise to John. Properly."

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson," he responded, sounding properly chastised, and shut the car door. As the cab drove off, he turned back to John.

"Come here, it's much warmer under my coat."

"Sherlock," John hissed, "We discussed this."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're cold, I have a coat."

"People will talk."

"So you have said. What are you afraid of?"

"I just…" John began, trailing off for a moment before continuing, "I just don't want to jinx it."

"Jinx?" Sherlock asked.

"Ruin it. We have something-" John swallowed, refusing to meet Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock stood patiently, waiting for John to continue. "I don't want the media to pry into our lives. It's not something that would be healthy for our relationship. I want this to last, and I'm afraid that putting that kind of pressure on it from the beginning would doom it."

"Oh," Sherlock said quietly, "That makes a surprising amount of sense."

They lapsed into silence, John shivering in the cold of the February air. He was beginning to seriously consider Sherlock's offer when a hand rested gently on his shoulder.

"Follow me," Sherlock murmured into John's ear, and took off to the relative seclusion of the alley down the block. John paused for a moment before taking off after him. He had realized a long time ago that he would follow Sherlock anywhere, however mad it may seem. As soon as he rounded the corner, Sherlock pressed John against the cold brick, fingers warmed by pockets pressing under the hem of his jumper.

"I've thought up a way to warm you up," Sherlock said, his mouth finding John's. His tongue swept across John's bottom lip, and he opened his mouth obligingly.

"Not… not here," John said, Sherlock's thorough exploration of him leaving him breathless, "Too close to the street."

"I know," he said wickedly.

John shouldn't have been this turned on, but the idea of what Sherlock was suggesting made the blood pound in his veins. His arms snaked inside Sherlock's coat, wrapping around his slender waist. He felt Sherlock smile against his lips.

"You do realize this does not constitute an apology, right?"

"Yes?" Sherlock's tone told John that he did, in fact, think it was an apology, but he knew John well enough by now to admit it.

"I mean it, Sherlock."

"Of course, John." Sherlock's tongue traced the shell of his ear, causing a different kind of shiver to course through John. He untucked Sherlock's shirt, trailing fingers along the line of his trousers.

"Oh fuck," Sherlock exclaimed, "Your hands are _cold._"

"I thought you were going to warm me up," John laughed. He loved it when Sherlock swore- hearing those words in his deep baritone always sent a shock of desire through him. Sherlock reached behind him and drew their hands in front, engulfing John's smaller ones with his larger ones.

"Oh, I plan on it." He brought John's hand up to his mouth, slowly drawing each finger in individually, swirling his tongue around the tips before releasing them with an obscene 'pop.' John stood transfixed, becoming harder than he thought possible. Reaching down with one hand, Sherlock deftly unbuttoned John's trousers. He pushed the garment down slightly, only enough to release John's considerable erection. It made the act seem more desperate, John leaning on a filthy wall in an alley while long fingers wrapped around his cock. He moaned as Sherlock pumped his hand, the friction almost too much.

"You have to be quiet," Sherlock purred, "We don't want anyone discovering us, do we?"

John bit his lip, trying to stop the sounds of his pleasure from escaping. Sherlock brought his hand up, licking a long line up his palm. John watched, mesmerized by his tongue. The hand returned to his cock, moving slowly up his length. A thumb swept over his sensitive glans and John couldn't help a small moan from escaping. Sherlock immediately removed his hand.

"No noise," he ordered.

"Fuck, Sherlock," John panted. He had never really considered himself an exhibitionist, but the thrill of doing something so illicit in public stirred something in him.

"If you talk I will stop." John nodded his agreement, and Sherlock caught his bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling gently. "I am going to warm you up, and you don't want me to stop, do you?"

"No."

"Then shush." Sherlock sank to his knees, seeming to not care about his expensive trousers. He engulfed John's cock in one swift movement, causing John to throw his head back against the brick wall.

"Ouch," he exclaimed. Sherlock removed his mouth, waiting for John to get control of himself.

"One more outburst and I swear I will leave you here in this alley," he warned. John fisted his hands, nodding tersely. He was on edge, electricity coursing through his body. His cock throbbed, begging for release. Sherlock obliged, licking a long line beginning at base, slowly wrapping his lips around the tip. He bobbed slowly, his hand coming up to work in time with his mouth. The sensation was almost overwhelming, John clenching his jaw to stop from moaning. He felt dirty, allowing his boyfriend to get him off in an alley. It was more exciting than he would have liked to admit, and he felt his approaching orgasm coming much quicker than normal.

Sherlock removed his mouth, "You aren't allowed to come yet."

John barely suppressed a whimper, causing Sherlock to grin impishly up at him. Pressing butterfly kisses along the crease of his hip, Sherlock trailed his fingers down the back of John's thighs. His knees buckled, causing his jumper to snag on the rough texture of the brick wall.

Sherlock placed a steadying hand on his waist. "Breathe," he said gently. John obeyed, taking in a shaky breath. He had never been this turned on before, and his arousal was quickly becoming painful. One graceful finger came up to John's mouth.

"Suck," Sherlock ordered. John responded enthusiastically, anticipation making his nerves sing. The finger was soon removed, and John closed his eyes. He knew what was coming next.

Sherlock's fingers swept across his sensitive perineum, making John bite his lip to keep from crying out. He knew Sherlock was serious about stopping, and he didn't know what he would do if he was left out in the cold. One finger massaged his arse, and he tried to relax. Sherlock's finger teased, pushing gently against the ring of muscle. He slowly inched his finger in, expertly finding John's prostate. John pressed a fist to his mouth, trying to contain his pleasure. His other hand threaded through Sherlock's curls, trying to convey his need to come. Fortunately, Sherlock understood, replacing his mouth on John's cock as he continued to finger him.

The resulting orgasm was spectacular. The edges of John's vision went black as Sherlock swallowed every last drop. He thanked God for the wall- it was the only thing keeping him upright. Knees wobbly, he stood panting, the rush of endorphins filling his veins. Looking down, he noted the smug look on Sherlock's face.

"Come here," John finally ordered, pulling Sherlock up. He could taste himself on Sherlock's lips as he thoroughly kissed the younger man.

"Warmer now?" Sherlock smirked.

"Much."

Sherlock kissed John quickly, turning suddenly and striding out of the alley. John leaned against the wall for a few more moments, trying to regain his composure. He fastened his trousers- it would be just his luck to have someone stumble into the alley now.

He eventually got his breathing back to normal, and left the alley to find Sherlock. Scanning the crowd that had formed, he saw him sulking next to a fireman.

"John, they say that we cannot go back in until they have made sure the area is secure."

"How long will that take?"

"Probably another hour, at least. I tried explaining that the explosion was a combination of harmless chemicals, but they don't seem to believe me."

"It's their job, just let them do it."

Sherlock sighed, "But I wanted to make sure it was warm enough inside, too."

"Oh," John said, warmth flooding his belly, "I'm pretty sure I'll be cold after another hour out here."

"Good. I can think of quite a few ways to warm you up."


End file.
